


home is where the heart is

by grandstander



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:31:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandstander/pseuds/grandstander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"i want to dream,<br/>leave me to dream"</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> :3c

“Summer will be ending soon.” he starts, settling down on the grass next to him, his expression rather plain as per usual. The sword he caries, a ceremonial one this time, presented to him by Basilio himself, rests against his shoulder with his arms cross over his chest, holding it in place. 

“I’m sure you’re disappointed to hear that.”

Gaius had never been a fan of the cold, and from their younger years, he was very vocal about it-- but despite that, despite curling his shoulders forward and his brow sinking, he still followed Lon’qu to Ferox. Well, not entirely. Gaius was a boy who was raised without a home, and born with a soul that thrashed in the cage of his bones so wildly; he was so young and full of vigor, a laugh that boomed like a firework in the air and a grin that looked as devilish as it did charming. For all he wished, he found it painful to stay, to stay anywhere. Lon’qu would catch him staring out the windows, his fingers curling into the cloth of his pants, or running his fingers over maps of countries and regions he’d been to. 

Sometimes, it’d lead to quite the tales. His thin, nimble finger would come to rest on a dot on the map, or a nestled pocket of mountains, and with a smile spreading over his lips, he’d proceed to spin a tale to Lon’qu that was so enrapturing that it’d pull smiles and laughs from him at times. 

( And oh, was Gaius so proud of that; his own smile would soften with such a crescent of love that he looked as lovelorn as a teenager caught in a summer wave of it. )

Lon’qu mused over the memory, and he thanked his lucky stars above that he was blessed with such a good memory. There were times when Gaius was so wrapped up in his stories, he’d get up and walk around the room, reenact them even. Some of the “dastardly” sword techniques he improvised with a baguette or an iron pan were, honestly, quite funny as he recalled. It was enough to make Lon’qu smile again at the present moment.

Of course, though, as he finished, Gaius would look out the window again with this sort of longing, this itching to move and go that burned deep in his belly. Then he’d look at Lon’qu, this sad smile on his face, already telling him sorry (within the next three days, he’d be gone). 

This carried on for years, until, finally, Gaius accepted that he was here. Here, was home; of course, “where” didn’t really matter. Lon’qu was home, his tall body and wide shoulders, his eyes unjudging, his heart so full of love-- golden, shining like a star that was to lead him in the deep darkness that seeped into his body, that had rooted itself there at his infancy and left him who he was. Of course, Gaius was Gaius; this was who he was, it was reality, and he made himself to be what he wanted. But, it doesn’t hurt hurt; no, not at all. It doesn’t hurt all too much to be in love ( it did; oh gods did it hurt ). 

“Though, to be honest, Autumn has always reminded me of you.” 

Lon’qu’s talkative today, or slightly more than usual. There’s a hum in the air carried on the wind, and at those words he looks up and he can see the tinges of gold and red dripping into the scenery like paint pouring over the landscape. 

“I know-- I know what you’re going to say, it’s the orange.” 

And it is, that beautiful orange, like a bright glowing ember; and oh, was Gaius full of fire. He was as cocky and full of spitfire as he was when they were young soldiers, following a Prince into war. It makes him smile, because maybe that’s what he fell in love with, that sort of intoxicating burn that surrounded him, that wild youth and ambitious intellect. He was admirable, obviously, but Lon’qu thinks that it’s probably more like he’s a moth to a flame. 

“I’m sorry to tell you that I haven’t stayed in touch with the palace gossip. You know that’s never been much my thing, but I know how you liked to eavesdrop on their ridiculousness.” 

The wind picks up a little more, and Lon’qu wants to believe that it’s his voice, wants to believe that the way it feels like it’s curling around him and make his coat feel tight, that his beloved is embracing him, at least in his heart. Lon’qu turns his gaze down, and he probably has to return to the castle soon (though, Basilio’s never been too hard on him for this sort of thing), and his finger tips trail over the face of the stone. There’s a tear welling up at his eyes, and he hurts, he aches and he feels a hurricane brew in his heart. 

“I miss you, gods, do I miss you.”

Lon’qu almost feels angry, feels like he’s been been left bare and empty. At least back then, all those years ago, Gaius would tell him, he’d write to him, and he’d always come home. He always came home. Lon’qu slowly boys forward, the sword that rested against his shoulder falling with him and landing with a soft clatter against the stone-- and he weeps, softly, gently. 

His face scrunches up in agony, the scars on his face stinging as the tears roll down his cheeks. He always came home-- but he’s stuck, here in this awful ground, under this wretched stone that doesn’t do his beautiful soul and heart justice. If only he had the hands to carve and paint, but all he can do it wax and wane poetry to the wind around him. Lon’qu’s throat clenches, over and over, wanting to speak and gasping for breath. 

It feels like a bad dream, he wants to wake up, wants to wake up and see Gaius laying next to him, the both of them old and with gray hair starting to pepper his hair and fuzz along the edge of Gaius’ face. His hands clench, fingers clinging to the ring around his finger, hoping it’ll comfort him, maybe it’ll glow and burn with a trace of his beloved’s soul. Oh, does he want Gaius back, does he want to hold his hands, to speak to him with so much love pouring from his throat that his lover is the one flustered for once, and oh does he miss him. 

The hand that clenches the ring on his finger moves, resting against the stone once more, running over the smooth surface and feeling the grooves of his name. “Home is where the heart is,” and Lon’qu was his home, he opened his heart up for him, and now there is no one to return home-- and Lon’qu feels much like an abandoned, empty house inside. 

“Please, come back to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry i cried while writing this


End file.
